


Draco Malfoy Doesn't Do Valentine's Day

by Magnolia822



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 11:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a busy man. He doesn’t have time for romance. He doesn’t have time for Valentine’s Day, and he certainly doesn’t have time for Harry bloody Potter to torment him for hours on end until he’s begging for exquisite release. Harry, however, has more than enough time.





	Draco Malfoy Doesn't Do Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> J.K. owns these characters; no offense is intended. 
> 
> Thanks to the mods for running such a great, stress-free fest! I'd like to give a special shout out to SonofSilly for her fantastic beta skillz, as always. Anon prompter (#41), I hope you enjoy!

The Great Hall was bedecked in the most horrendous display of pink and red hearts, flowers and streamers imaginable. Tiny naked cupids, charmed to fly and point their little gold bows at unsuspecting banqueters, flitted around the enchanted sky, squealing with laughter as their targets batted away or caught the chocolate peppermint arrows. Older students huddled together around the remnants of their dinner in groups of three and four, whispering and casting longing glances across the table, mainly at members of the opposite—but sometimes same—sex, while the first and second year boys pelted tiny, heart shaped candies at each other whenever they thought the teachers weren’t paying attention. The entire room thrummed with saccharine, libidinous impulse. 

Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes heavenward and took a sip of his too sweet pumpkin juice, wishing it were whiskey. That would have to wait until later, once he was safely back in his chambers and away from the noise and unbearably awkward mating rituals that could only exist between hormonal teenagers on Valentine’s Day.

In the ten years since he’d taken his position as Head of Slytherin House and Potions Professor, most of Draco’s liaisons with men had been brief, functional and not often repeated. He had learned not to expect romance. Most of his partners would fuck a Death Eater, but never date or marry one. And in any case, he simply didn’t have time for something more substantial. 

Across the table, Neville Longbottom, Herbology, and Luna Lovegood, Divination, were giving the students a run for their galleons. They stared at one another like lovesick Hippogriffs, their hands bumping whenever they both reached for another helping of food. The two of them had been dancing around one another all year, and Draco hoped this was the night they finally got the courage to do something about it. And then there was Hagrid, who was currently close to necking his long time amour, Madame Maxime, who had flown in from Beauxbatons the night before to spend the holiday with him. The flickering candlelight brought out the soppy expression on Hagrid’s face. It was more than one man could take.

Deciding he’d had enough, Draco pushed back from the table, but wasn’t quite able to escape the magnetic pull from his left, the one he’d been attempting—hoplessley, it seemed—to ignore all night. Harry Potter was quiet, his handsome face relaxed and slightly bemused as he surveyed the spectacle before them. For a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he was far too good natured and . . . and bloody _sincere_ , Draco decided with an annoyed huff. But then, what would one expect from a Gryffindor? 

“And what’s got your knickers in a twist, then?” Potter asked, his mouth turning up in a crooked smile. 

“I’ll thank you to leave my knickers out of it,” Draco replied, face warming in spite of himself. “You can’t tell me you’re enjoying . . . this.” He gestured helplessly. 

“What’s wrong with it? I think it’s nice. It’s romantic.” 

“Romantic.” Draco nearly choked on the word. “If this is your idea of romance, Potter, you’re more of a lost cause than even I expected.” 

“So what is your idea of romance, Draco?” Potter arched an eyebrow. Draco glanced around furtively to ensure they weren’t being overhead. Things had gotten a lot more . . . interesting in the last several weeks, since Potter had taken on the DADA position at the start of second term. But Draco wasn’t ready for anyone else to know. Even _he_ wasn’t quite sure about Potter’s intentions. 

“It’s certainly not this. This is a public display of sentiment, nothing more.” 

“So you like something a little more private, then?” Potter was grinning now, and Draco’s face grew warmer. “I think I can imagine. A crackling fireplace, bottle of expensive wine. Some dark chocolate, perhaps?” 

“Don’t forget a bear skin rug and a dozen roses. Please, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes, through Potter wasn’t exactly far off. Not that Draco had ever been the recipient of such attentions. 

“Hmm. Something else then. Maybe something even more private.” Potter’s voice was low and gravelly in Draco’s ear as he leaned forward, his calf brushing against Draco’s with intent. Draco’s pulse leapt, all of his attention focused on the sensation of Potter’s leg against his own. His prick gave an interested twitch, and he was thankful for his dress robes, which would conceal any obvious arousal. He swallowed and tried to quiet the hammering of his heart. Bloody Harry Potter. 

“Potter,” he whispered in warning. “I have some work to do. I’m leaving.” 

Oblivious to his discomfort, or perhaps because of it, Potter leaned closer. “I told you to call me Harry.” The words whispered across Draco’s cheek, setting his face aflame. He was thankful for the dim lighting, save for the fact it seemed to make Potter’s bottle green eyes even more compelling. Potter picked up a chocolate heart from the plate on the table and popped it into his mouth. “Shall I walk you home?” 

“No.” Draco leaned back, wrapping his arms around his chest. Potter’s face shuttered, his mouth drawing in to a thin line. It did something to Draco’s insides to see him suddenly unhappy, which in itself was a remarkable change. Just a year ago, he and Potter were barely civil at public events. And now . . . “Not right now,” Draco amended with another quick glance around the table. He bit his lip, unable to explain, to make Potter understand. Draco was a private person. He’d had to be, given his past. The thought of anyone knowing, of this nascent thing between them being exposed to the ridicule he knew awaited . . . it wouldn’t survive. 

“All right,” said Potter with a sigh, his face inscrutable. “Go on, then.” 

Draco paused before pushing up onto his feet. “See you later?” It was more of a question than Draco meant it to be, and his voice sounded almost soppy with hope. The twinkle returned to Potter’s eyes, smile softening his features. 

“If you insist, Malfoy.”

***

Draco paced the length of his chambers as curfew passed and his students settled in for the night. He had no doubt some of them, particularly sixth and seventh years, would be sneaking around up to no good, but he determined to leave them to the Slytherin prefects. His heart was thundering in his chest like an Erumpent, his stomach twisting with nervy anticipation. Even the glass of Firewhiskey he’d had to quell his anxiety hadn’t done much to dull his senses: they were attuned to every movement in the hall, waiting.

He hadn’t lied to Potter, though; he did have work to do. He forced himself to sit on the plush green velvet sofa next to the fire and picked up the textbook he had been considering for the new first year course. It was dry as a bone, however, and Draco found himself reading the same sentences again and again, unable to focus. His prick had been half hard since he’d left Potter behind at the Great Hall, and he bit his lip, resisting palming himself. He had to get some sense of control over the situation. He couldn’t go around wanking at the mere anticipation of Potter’s arrival. Or non-arrival, as it may be.

Then, a quiet rap-rap-rap. Pause. Rappity-rap. 

Draco froze, and his heart lurched into his throat. With a flick of his wand, Draco undid the latch but maintained his seated position, his book resting carefully on one knee. He was an utter mess internally, but he didn’t need Potter to know how very eager he was, at least not yet. 

As always, it appeared no one was there until the door shut with a snick and Potter lifted his cloak, his strong shoulders shrugging it off and revealing his narrow hips, muscled thighs and hopelessly messy hair. No longer in his dress robes, Potter was utterly delectable in his worn Muggle jeans and faded T-shirt, not that Draco would ever give him the satisfaction of saying so. He grinned at Draco as he adjusted his glasses and held out something that had been hidden behind his back. 

Draco blinked, unable to stop his mouth from dropping open. “You brought me roses.” 

“Nicked them from the party, but yeah. I thought you could use a little color to brighten things up.” Potter winked and set the vase of what looked like two dozen long stem red roses down on Draco’s small breakfast table. They were plush and elegant, and their delicate scent filled the room. Draco had the strong urge to go to Potter and wrap him in his arms, but somehow he was rooted to the spot. When Potter turned back to face him, there was a slight flush on his cheeks, his hands thrust into his pockets. “I hope that’s okay.” 

“Yes, thank you. They’re . . . nice.” Draco hadn’t seen any such thing at the party, and he wasn’t sure Potter was telling the truth. From the way Potter was acting, Draco thought he might have planned to bring them, but didn’t want to say. That idea made Draco bite his bottom lip to keep from smiling too widely. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. 

Potter seemed to shake off his embarrassment, and a few seconds later was sitting next to Draco on the sofa, close enough to touch. “You look comfortable.” His heated gaze drifted over Draco’s body, warming him more than whiskey or fire ever could. Draco knew his green silk robe showed him off to his best advantage. He also knew from a recent, carefully executed experiment that Potter couldn’t resist the feel of the silk sliding over his skin. “What’re you reading?” Potter asked, even as he reached out to touch the soft material bunching up on Draco’s thigh. His hands were strong and firm, rubbing circles on the curved muscle. 

“Oh, nothing important,” Draco said, casting the book aside. He was already a little breathless and shivery. Potter smelled good, musky and male, with just a hint of cologne. It made Draco want to bury his head against Potter’s throat and never leave. His robe slipped open. Potter rubbed his hand back and forth, and he sucked in a breath as his hand met warm, solid flesh. Draco was already so hard.

“You’re not wearing pants.” Potter’s eyes were hot with approval. “Merlin, Draco. If I’d known you were sitting here almost naked and ready, waiting for me, I would have come a lot sooner.” 

“I expect you’ll come soon enough,” Draco said, the words catching in his throat as Potter pumped his shaft slowly once, twice. 

“Mmm.That’s a terrible pun. But I don’t want to rush tonight.” Potter shifted closer, releasing Draco’s eager cock, which he covered again with the silk robe. Unable to restrain a whimper, Draco watched it strain obscenely, a little patch of wetness darkening the fabric at the tip. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

Potter slid his hand up the flat plane of Draco’s stomach and resumed his slow, circular rubbing. When he arrived at Draco’s silk-covered nipples, he tweaked one, then the other, between his fingers, watching Draco intently for his reaction. He must have seen something that pleased him. His eyes were dark, his mouth soft and tempting. “Oh, I have plans,” he said cryptically. “Do you trust me?” He ran a thumb over Draco’s bottom lip. Draco’s whole body was aflame, and they’d barely begun.

Unable to respond, Draco just nodded, his throat working against the intensity of his feelings. Damn Potter and his ability to strip Draco bare with just four words. He did trust Potter, implicity and completely, had done since the Fiendfyre, and there was nothing to be done about it. 

“Good.” 

With a little moan, Draco closed his eyes, leaned back and allowed Potter to trail kisses over his jaw and throat. It was almost too gentle, the way Potter cupped Draco’s face with the hand that wasn’t exploring his body and drew him closer for a kiss on the lips. Their mouths met and melted against one another, tongues exploring. So tender, Draco almost imagined Potter was here for more than a fuck. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Potter said, his voice thick with desire. It thrilled Draco, that he could have this effect on Potter, that Potter could want him in this way. 

It had only been a couple weeks since the first time. Like that night, which had ostensibly begun as a fireside chat to discuss the progress of one of their students, Draco let Potter take the lead as they stumbled their way towards his four-poster bed. Potter spelled the curtains down, then cast a silencing charm to ensure their privacy if any miscreants should sneak through the dungeon corridors. Draco lit the faerie lights above their heads. They sparkled, silver and green, making Potter’s eyes shine. 

They kissed again, hungrily and with increasing urgency. Draco ran his hands up Potter’s sides and gathered up the material of his shirt, loving the feel of bare, lithe muscle once it was removed. Potter’s chest was broad, his arms defined from years working on the Auror force. Draco touched him, the coarse chest hair rasping against his palms. He couldn’t get enough of touching Potter, and Potter’s answering groan made Draco’s cock throb. 

It was strange to have this man in his bed, but starting to be less strange, which was probably not a good sign. Draco still didn’t know why Potter had accepted the position at Hogwarts. Everyone had been sure he was next in line for Head Auror, but for some reason Potter had walked away from what he—according to the papers at least—wanted most in the world. Of course, Draco knew better than to believe the papers. 

He hoped Potter would tell him in his own time. 

“Mmph,” Draco grunted as Potter pushed him back onto the soft pile of pillows. He dug his fingers into the solid back muscles, then ran his hands down to cup Potter’s firm arse. There was an unfortunate amount of material in the way. He scrabbled at the jeans. “These, off.”

“Not yet,” said Potter, a bit evilly. He sat back on his heels between Draco’s spread thighs. The robe gaped open, sash undone, erasing any vestige of modesty. Draco’s prick was red and hard as iron, and Potter gave it a maddening, slow stroke, curling his hand at the tip and pushing back the foreskin to reveal the slick, sensitive head. Draco gasped. He could see the thick outline of Potter’s own cock against his hip, and he reached out for it, needing to touch, to taste. Potter caught his hand. ‘Uh, uh, uh.” 

“Potter,” Draco nearly whined. He wanted Potter on top of him, pushing him down into the mattress, wanted to feel the long, hard length of him. He wriggled as Potter continued to stroke him slowly, up and down, up and down, the teasing pressure not nearly enough. Draco could come like this if only Potter would go faster. “Speed. Up.”

“You’re so impatient,” Potter whispered. “We have all night. Don’t you know good things come to those who wait?” 

The connotation of the words broke through Draco’s lust-fogged brain, and he squirmed, trying to make sense of it. Was Potter truly planning to stay the night? They hadn’t done that yet—they needed to be discreet, of course, but it was also so intimate, sleeping next to another person. Not that they would be doing much sleeping, if the expression on Potter’s face was any indication. Draco didn’t know how to feel about it. His body knew what it wanted, though. He looked down at himself, splayed out and panting, a flush rising on his chest where fine lines of old scars wove a subtle tapestry. Potter hadn’t been shocked to see them their first night together, merely a month before; he had simply pressed his hand to Draco’s sternum and whispered his apology, and just like that, a weight was lifted that Draco hadn’t even known he carried. Potter hadn’t shied away from touching the mark on Draco’s arm, either, another reminder of the bad decisions of his youth. Other lovers had been fascinated, had ignored it, had recoiled. But Potter hadn’t done any of these things, strangely enough. Draco expected disgust, but all he got from Potter was . . . acceptance. 

They weren’t going to talk about the past tonight. Draco’s robe slid further to reveal the quivering lines of his stomach, his tense, straining thighs. For his part, Potter was not unaffected. His eyes were dark and heavy lidded as he watched his hand working between Draco’s legs. 

“You look beautiful,” Potter murmured. Draco scoffed, unable to help himself, but Potter gave him a half smile. “I could do this forever.” 

“Fuck.” Draco bit his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. His cock was throbbing in Potter’s sure grip. When Potter cupped his bollocks with one hand, rolling them gently, Draco closed his eyes and almost levitated off the bed. No one had ever touched him like this. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea it was Potter of all people, Potter who seemed to want Draco as much as Draco wanted Potter. 

“Yeah, just like that. This is just what you need,” Potter said, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.” 

“You’re a bloody tease, Harry Potter.” Still, Draco tried to relax his tense limbs, letting himself sink into the soft blankets. 

“Only for you.” 

Seconds later, Draco gasped and opened his eyes as he felt Potter swallowing his cock in a long, languorous slide. It was like hot velvet, Potter’s mouth. Potter had the most incredibly talented tongue, and he swirled it around the head, dipping into the slit like he wanted to fuck Draco’s prick with it. A bead of precome formed at the tip, and Potter closed his eyes, moaning as he lapped it up. Draco’s cock ached and flexed, leaking another stream of clear fluid, and he stifled a helpless moan. 

There was no reason Potter should have this effect on him; Draco had gotten perfectly efficacious blowjobs before. But never like this, a voice inside him whispered. Never so bloody good. Draco tried to push the voice aside, but it was getting stronger every day, every time Potter gave Draco one of his private smiles, every time they touched in passing. 

Salazar, Draco was becoming a Hufflepuff. 

Potter worked his cock like he was born to do it. Draco wove his hands into Potter’s hopelessly messy hair, his fingers trembling as he held back his thrusts. Potter’s gaze was incendiary as he watched Draco from between his spread thighs. He stroked the base of Draco’s prick gently as he sucked, alternating between tugging Draco’s sack and squeezing, and Draco’s arousal started to build towards its inevitable crescendo. Potter’s mouth was obscene, his lips so full and perfect stretched around Draco’s throbbing cock. The sight alone was enough to make Draco come. Potter’s eyes fluttered closed, his inky lashes spread over his cheeks, as he took Draco down to the root. 

“You’re gagging for it, Potter,” Draco said hoarsely. “Look at you take it. Take it all down.” His bollocks started to tighten, and he pushed up helplessly as Potter popped off and went down again, his throat working around the intrusion. Messy, wet sounds filled the room, sounds that once might have embarrassed Draco for their vulgarity. So many of his encounters had been quick, perfunctorily serving a need, but Having Potter between his legs made Draco incredibly wanton. He wanted Potter to suck him for days. He would never get enough of Potter taking him deep, groaning around his shaft like he loved it. “Potter. I’m close.” Draco’s voice was breathy, the ache in his bollocks spreading, getting more urgent . . .

Potter pulled off, and Draco’s prick bobbed wetly in the air before flopping on his belly, unsatisfied. Draco couldn’t stop the bereft noise that rose up in his throat. His orgasm was just out of reach, his bollocks still painfully tight. Potter watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Draco grasped his prick and tried to stroke. 

“Not yet, you don’t,” Potter said. He gripped Draco’s wrist with one hand, holding it tight. Draco started to struggle, but Potter used his other arm to restrain Draco’s hips. “Not until I say. Now let go.” Reluctantly, Draco released his cock and allowed Potter to move his hand to the side. 

“Potter . . . I can’t . . . fuck.” Draco’s heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. “Let me come. Please.” He was almost whining, but he was too far gone to care. 

“Be patient. Accio lube.” Potter used his irritatingly attractive wandless magic to summon it from the bedside drawer. He squinted at the bottle and squeezed the last bit onto his palm. A hot feeling squirmed through Draco’s stomach as he realised they’d used the whole bottle in a matter of weeks. Potter preferred not to use preparation spells. He claimed they were too impersonal. 

“Now,” said Potter, casting the bottle aside. He urged Draco’s legs further apart and pressed two slick fingers against his opening. Potter must have liked whatever expression he saw on Draco’s face as he slid his fingers inside. Draco gasped at the intrusion. “How does that feel?” He started to move his hand, teasing the sensitive rim before pushing in again and again with maddeningly slow precision. “Tell me, or I’ll stop.” 

Draco shook his head, his mouth falling open. His prick lay throbbing and unsatisfied on his belly, a thin stream of precome leaking from the tip as Potter’s fingers reached the perfect spot, deep inside him. “Good. Yes. Please don’t stop.” 

“Good? Surely we can do better than that.” Potter grinned evilly, and then he leaned down to lick a stripe up Draco’s cock. Draco shuddered and arched into the touch, but Potter didn’t seem to have any intention of continuing to suck him. He shifted down on the bed until his face was . . . Oh gods. Draco flung an arm over his face, which burned as Potter’s tongue joined his fingers, prodding and pressing at his slick hole. He lapped and sucked and fucked Draco with his mouth and his hand, and Draco’s throat was thick with all of the things he wanted to say. How was it that Potter, his enemy for so long, was the only one able to undo him completely? Was it the universe’s idea of a joke to make Draco long to beg and plead for his release, as though Potter was the only one who could satisfy his needs? 

The hazy thoughts slipped in and out of Draco’s mind as his body responded, opening further until Draco had no idea where his body ended and Potter’s began. Potter still wore his jeans, his hips thrusting minutely against the bed as he buried his face in Draco’s arse. Draco’s hands were in Potter’s hair, holding him close as desperate sobs and slick sounds filled the air. Draco had never been so hard. His prick was streaming steadily now, a pool filling his navel and dripping down his stomach. Every time he got close to the edge, Potter stopped touching him, only resuming when the burning desire to come began to recede. It was the most maddening experience of Draco’s life. 

He hated it. He loved it.

Finally, it seemed even Potter had had enough. His eyes met Draco’s, wild and clouded with lust. He reared up and finally undid the fly of his jeans, kicking them off without grace. He wasn’t wearing pants underneath, and Draco was gifted with the sight of Potter’s thick, hard cock springing free. It was a thing of beauty, long and proud with a glistening, bulbous head. Potter leaned back and gave himself a few slow strokes, and Draco’s mouth watered. He nearly begged to taste it. 

With a quick movement, Potter was straddling Draco’s chest and pushing his cock into Draco’s mouth, and Draco was ready and willing to oblige. He groaned as the hot tang of Potter’s arousal coated his tongue, the prick in his mouth hard as the spike of a Hungarian Horntail. Potter wasn’t gentle. He began to thrust, urging his cock further and further into Draco’s mouth, down his throat. Draco held on to Potter’s hips and let him fuck, his hips rabbiting as Draco licked and sucked and did his best to drive Potter out of his mind. 

“Yeah, just like that. You’re so good, Draco.” Potter was shuddering, his hips straining. He rubbed his thumb over Draco’s lips, right where his cock was thrusting. “Fuck, that looks good.” Potter was falling apart, and Draco preened at his sudden loss of control. It was comforting to know he wasn’t the only one affected in this way. 

For a moment, Draco was sure of his victory. He sucked harder, watching Potter’s face as it contorted with imminent pleasure. But then, with a feat of what must have been superhuman strength, Potter was pulling out, his face dazed. “Merlin. Too good. Just . . . give me a minute.” He gripped his prick at the base and held tight. 

Draco lay panting, his throat raw, cock throbbing with need as he watched Potter compose himself. He was a beautiful man, there was no denying it, and he was here in Draco’s bed again, giving him this excruciating pleasure . . . bringing him roses. What did it mean? 

“What are you thinking about?” Potter’s voice was rough, raspy with arousal. 

“You.” He blurted the word without meaning to, his face heating. “And whether you’re going to fuck me this century.”

Potter’s eyes blazed. He was on Draco in an instant, their cocks rubbing together, their skin slick with sweat. Draco revelled in the slide of their bodies. He had never wanted someone so much, and he was sure it was evident in the way he clutched at Potter with his greedy hands.

“You want this?” Potter pressed the head of his prick against Draco’s hole. 

“Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me.” Draco couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. He was lost and drifting and needed the hard length of Potter’s cock to anchor him, to fill him up “I need you. Fuck me, please.” 

Potter groaned, mouthing at his neck. “You’re so . . . Merlin, you’re brilliant. So perfect for me.” 

Draco hissed out a ‘yes’ as he was breached. Potter slid his cock to the hilt in one quick thrust. It went in easy, with no pain or resistance, Draco was so ready. He was already hurtling towards the point of no return as Potter snapped his hips, driving his prick deeper and deeper as though he couldn’t get enough. Draco scraped his nails down Potter’s back. His aching bollocks drew up, his painfully neglected prick slapping his stomach as Potter jostled him into the bed. Mouths met in a messy kiss that barely contained their increasingly urgent sounds. In a moment of irreverence, Draco was glad they’d cast a silencing charm. His entire body was on fire.

Potter seemed remarkably in control for a Gryffindor, all things considered. 

“Do you want to come?” Potter whispered. 

“Fuck. Yes.” He was so close. 

Potter pulled out. 

Draco nearly screamed in protest, but an instant later, Potter was urging him onto his hands and knees, grabbing his hips and driving back home. He began to fuck with a punishing tempo, his big cock filling Draco completely with every slide. Draco’s head lolled between his shoulders. He pushed back into Potter, and soon they established a perfect rhythm. 

“Touch yourself. Go ahead. Do it while I’m fucking you.” Potter’s voice was harsh, full of exertion. 

Bracing himself with one trembling arm, Draco gripped his slippery prick with his other hand. He held it tightly, not daring to move. He was shuddering, his whole body fighting the call to orgasm. For some strange reason, he wanted to prove himself to Potter. That he could wait. 

Potter growled in his ear and dug his fingers into Draco’s hips. “Fuck. I’m not going to last. Fuck—” His words slid into a groan as, with a few last stuttering thrusts, Potter began to come. Draco felt him throbbing and clenched down, which only caused Potter to groan and curse louder. He collapsed against Draco’s back, still joined to him. 

Draco was out of his mind. 

“Draco?” Potter finally asked. “Did you?” 

Draco only managed to shake his head. Potter looked at him with a dazed expression. “Merlin. Let me see you do it.” 

Somehow they managed to untangle themselves. Draco regretted the loss of Potter, but he was so brutally, painfully hard, it was difficult to think of much else. 

Potter stared at him, eyes dark and beautiful, lips curved with sated pleasure. “You’re incredible. I didn’t think . . . I didn’t think you’d actually like me. But you . . . really do.” 

“Potter. Please.” Draco was lifting his hips in invitation, and Potter didn’t need to be asked twice. He gripped Draco’s cock and started to wank him quickly, and Draco helplessly thrust into Potter’s hand. The orgasm he’d been holding back roared over him. White hot pleasure coursed through his veins as he started to come, the force of it overpowering. Everything went black and quiet for a moment. When Draco could finally think again, he opened his eyes. Potter was watching him with an expression that could only be called . . . hopelessly besotted. 

Draco found himself smiling back in spite of his exhaustion and the mess. He reached up and pulled Harry down to him. They shared a lazy kiss. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Potter whispered. “Did you like your present?”

Draco hid his blush under his arm. “You’re an idiot, Harry.” 

“Yes, but I’m yours.” 

Something warm bloomed in Draco’s chest. He couldn’t quite understand it, not in his current fucked-out state, but he made a mental note to investigate it further the following day. Yes, Potter was a sentimental sap. But he was Draco’s.

“Spend the night with me,” Draco blurted. “And in the morning . . .” 

Harry smiled. “In the morning, we’ll figure out the rest.”


End file.
